


Monochrome

by Eyemoonx657



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Grayson (Comics), Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Black Butler AU, Brudick - Freeform, Demon Dick Grayson, M/M, Minor Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-18 01:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18110195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyemoonx657/pseuds/Eyemoonx657
Summary: "You said you'll do anything for me, right?""Anything.""Then don't leave me. Ever. That's an order."Dick puts his lips on his hair, his soft voice vibrates in that muscled torso as he whispers. "Yes, my lord."Bruce's parents are dead, and the only one who will stick by his side is a demon who promised to give his services for exchange of his soul.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Demons? Contracts? Revenge? You guessed it right. It's inspired by Black Butler! But you don't need to know the show to read it. It's mostly just focused on BruDick.  
> Enjoy! :)

 

_"Well, aren't you a small master."_

He was a son. He was his mommy and daddy's son.

_"You have called for me."_

Then came the fire, and his mommy and daddy were murdered. He was captured, tortured, branded, tormented, abused till the last piece of his innocent was rotten. They tried to sacrifice him to summon a demon.

_"And what has been sacrificed will never be returned."_

Then came the demon. That presence in the darkness who whispered sweet promise of granting him _anything_ he desired.

_"Now choose."_

He was angry. A sad, angry boy looking for revenge. _Any_ revenge. He needed a servant. Clever and capable, to be his eyes and ears and hands. A tutor to teach him how to stop being helpless before all the bad guys.

The demon needed a form . . . A name . . .

". . . Dick . . ."

_"Choose!"_

He makes a vow. He will make them pay. He will _kill_ them!

"Choose." A deep voice purrs in his ears.

"KILL THEM!"

"Yes, my lord."

And the demon lashes out like black and blue lightening, and the screaming begins in earnest. The sound of their terror is music to Bruce's ears.

"I swear by the spirits of my parents' deaths to spend the rest of my life warring all the criminals."

The demon bowed before him. Tall, strong, handsome, obedience, fearsome, and steadfast. The devil himself. They called for his attention, but instead here he is, focused on _him . . ._

"Yes, my lord."

 

* * *

 

**8 years old**

"Don't stare at me, you filthy entity." Bruce shouts as he reaches a fist up and lands it across his butler's fine cheekbones. Dick's head twists to a side, long hair falling over his features. He didn't even recoil when Bruce punched him as hard as his tiny fists allowed him.

Bruce bites his lips to cease their trembling. He blinks stubbornly to shove his burning tears back.

Dick simply runs a hand through his ravenous strands to straighten them and turns his unfazed eyes down as he bows. "Yes, my lord."

Bruce growls angrily as he slaps another hand to the other cheek. "Shut up! Why do you follow my every order? Are you an animal? Huh?"

Dick stands straight while gluing his cerulean eyes on the carpet. "It's because I'm simply one hell of a butler, master." He smiles soothingly.

That stupid, calm, forged smile he always wears. It sickens him.

He twists his face in abhorrence. "You disgust me."

"I assume young master must be quite distress from attending the anguished funeral of your par__"

"You're a _demon._ What do _you_ know about distress? You're just a tool. _My tool._ So my family can get the justice they were denied."

As ordered, Dick doesn't bring his eyes up to lock them with his master, "I'm quite aware, master. So let me put your mind at ease and say even the sole thought of pitying you didn't cross my head if that was the reason of your outburst."

Bruce snickers. _As if you're capable of_ understanding _human feelings._

"I don't give a damn about what a low-life creature like you thinks of me." His heart is racing. It's anger, he knows he's furious with his butler. "What I care about is that my family's enemies are out there, breathing, _living,_ and celebrating somewhere while my parents are worms food."

The trembling in his lips returns. Hot tears blurs his vision again, but he won't let them out. He digs his nails in his palm till it starts to sting. But it's okay, he learned he can handle suffering, he can hold back tears, he can punch his butlers till his knuckles goes numb, he can suck the blood from his own ripped lips for as long as it required. He knows he can do that.

But he _can't_ stop being angry. He can't stop being enraged while his enemies are still alive and his parents aren't.

He can only stay furious of the people who burned his house to ashes, villains who murdered his parents, monsters who kidnapped him and shattered him to pieces, the enemies who were still trying to insult his family name, the demon who made a deal with him.

And himself, for being a helpless kid who couldn't do shit when his parents burned alive before him.

"Master." Dick stares at him. He slowly walks up to Bruce, kneels gracefully before the boy like the gentleman he is. He keeps his unraveling eyes on him, reaches forward and takes Bruce's fist between his own hands. "I shall rip the heads of your enemies if you order. I shall tear their defiled hearts out and feed them to pigs. I shall slaughter their children to pieces and paint your manor with their blood. I will do _anything_ for you, my lord."

Unlike his words, Dick's voice sounds sweet, in a way it almost turned the cooper taste on his tongue like honey. His breath hitches. It's anger, he knows he's furious with his butler.

"But I don't know what to do, Dick." He forces the words out.

Dick's lips quirks upward to a gentle smile, he starts to stroke his thumb over the mark on Bruce's hand. "It's quite unexpected for the young master to take the terms of our contract for granted."

Bruce gulps through the knot in his throat, breathes deeply while his small feet aches from standing for too long.

"Your soul is mine." Dick continues, "But I won't break our deal even if threatens my own existence. I will grant you my whole strength so you can rise and fight your enemies. I will stay by your side until you defeat your enemies one after the other. I will assist you with restoring your family's honor."

Bruce feels his fist loosing its tension within the warmth of Dick's hands. But he doesn't want the demon to take notice of it. He harshly snatches his hand back to his side, his eyes were filled with too much tears that he presumed he caught glimpse of a hurt expression on Dick's eyes for a split of second.

But thank god he is only assuming things.

"I would expect nothing less. You're offered my soul. I'm stripped of heaven, hell, and my continuance existence in this world for eternity." He looks down his nose at the demon who still remains on his knees before him. With a frown apparent on his face, Bruce makes sure his voice sounds as mighty like the master Dick keeps calling him.

"In fact, it is _I_ who is doing you a favor. I _choose_ to sacrifice my future to make the ones who put me through that misery, suffer as I did."

Dick's smile turns to that of a mischievous grin. "My lord, I must admit, you're quite skilled at amazing me."

He feels heat running through his cheeks. It's anger, he knows he's furious with his butler.

"Get out of my sight." Bruce grunts.

One hand on his heart as he whispers, "Yes, my lord."

 

* * *

 

**10 years old**

Bruce growls and throws the plate of desert to his butler's direction. The cake hits Dick's face, substituting the slightly dumbfounded expression he was wearing with strawberry cream.

"What kind of garbage is that?" Bruce shouts, glaring fatal at the man standing gracefully behind him.

Unsurprisingly, the expression that greets him when that disaster of a desert was wiped, is of an unexceptionable feature. "The feast I prepared doesn't qualify to the young master's appetize?"

"That cake tastes like crap, you stupid demon." Bruce glares at the palatable deserts on the table, all in various designs and savory colors on the surface while carrying the dreadful taste of . . . _nothingness_ within them.

"My apology, master. It isn't in demons' nature to be quite acquaintance with the human nourishments." The extreme politeness in Dick's voice makes him flinch, as if the demon was openly laughing at him.

He scowls. "Well, learn how to prepare a decent meal. You're far from what a competence Wayne family butler should be."

Dick smiled smoothly, puts one hand on his chest and keeps the other politely on his back as he bows, "Yes, my lord."

Bruce watches as Dick gathers the plates and all the deserts back to the kitchen. The demon looks so like a man, even his handsome face is not so extraordinary that people would think him inhuman.

Bruce's brows furrows. A deception. His entire being is a lie, his fine built, his calm and quiet nature, his gentleness, even his promise to care for Bruce is a ruse until the day he feeds on the boy's soul.

"Would young master care for some tea until I arrange a more suitable meal?"

"No, I don't want _tea._ I'm hungry. Go make me some mackeral, and and chicken breast with mushed potatoes and curry with chocolate in it. That's what I want."

If Dick is surprised by his request he hides it expertly as he does everything.

"I'm afraid that odd combination will bother your stomach__"

"I didn't ask for your opinion. My meal better be prepared in less than ten minutes, Dick. That's an _order."_

Just like every single time he orders the demon, the mark of their contract at the back of their hands glows a hollow blue, forcing Dick into obligation.

The demon bows, "Yes, my lord."

His meal is fetched in precisely ten minutes. It tastes more than perfect. Just as he ordered. But he doesn't give Dick the approval he eagerly awaits to come. That's how their contract works. Bruce orders and Dick complies without any questions until his last inhuman breath dries.

That's how it goes until Bruce gets his revenge and the contract is over.

 

* * *

 

**12 years old**

Bruce jolts upward with a scream. He starts panting heavily, beads of sweat making his body shiver unconsciously.

"Mom! Dad!" He shouts for his parents to come. He's seen a nightmare, where _are_ they? Why won't they come to hug him and tell him it's all right?"

The sound of his heartbeat in his ears vaguely mutes any noises around him. So he doesn't notice when his name is being called until firm hands start shaking his shoulders.

"My lord!"

The face that greets him doesn't belong to his mother, it's not even his father. Who is _he?_ Why's he here?

_I want my mom. I want my dad. WHERE ARE THEY___

The a voice is shushing him, telling him it's okay, hands keep brushing his hair out of his forehead, smooth breaths hit his face with a warm scent as he talks. Bruce knows that voice. He knows that touch. He _knows_ that smell.

"Dick." He hates how desperate he sounds.

His butler shushes him again, "It's okay, it's okay, my lord. You're safe. You're safe now. It's all right." He pulls Bruce in his arms and pushes his small head to rest on his board chest as he murmurs, "It's over. I'm here."

Bruce finally lets out a shaky gasp, as if he is granted the allowance to breathe easily. A few minutes passes between them. He goes limp as Dick caress his hair and back smoothly.

He wants to laugh, it's stupid. Just how messed up has he become that he has to find serenity in his butler's embrace? How crazy has he become to feel safe in a demon's arms? Why is he allowing this? Why can't he resist that demon?

But he doesn't laugh, because it's not stupid. It's lonely. He's lonely. He doesn't have anyone expect a demon who is going to make one hell of a meal out of his soul.

His parents are dead, and the only one who will stick by his side is a demon who promised to give him his services for exchange of his soul.

He doesn't care. He doesn't want anything, he has no future, no life, no purpose. He's merely alive to get his revenge.

_I have no one._

"Dick." He asks weakly.

"Yes?"

"You said you'll do anything for me, right?" He listens to Dick's heart beating in constant rhythm. Even the sound of his heart puts his mind at ease.

"Anything."

He shivers, pushes his head to hide it further on Dick's chest. "Then don't leave me. Ever. That's an order."

He feels the mark of their bond on the back of his hand glow.

Dick puts his lips on his hair, his soft voice vibrates in that muscled torso as he whispers. "Yes, my lord."

He falls asleep in Dick's arms. That is the soundest sleep he has ever had since his parents' deaths.

 

* * *

 

**14 years old**

"Dick, why don't you just take my soul?" He asks as he dodges a kick to his side.

"Pardon, my lord?" Dick ducks down to avoid an uppercut to his head.

He has been wondering, can't Dick just take his soul without forming any contract? He's a demon! Why should he even follow rules?

He starts hitting Dick at once, but the demon doesn't flinch one bit even though he is striking with full force.

"Is it worth it?" The cleaning, cooking, educating him. All this stuff. How does his pride allow it? "Am _I_ worth it?"

Dick recovers quickly and throws a jab at him, fast and explosive enough to catch him off guard. Then the demon swings his long leg in a circular motion to land a roundhouse kick to his head. Bruce barely blocks it as it sends him down.

He tries to stand despite the terrible ring in his ears and the cooper taste in his mouth, but he can only manage to sit on fours as everything swings before his vision. Gentle hands appear on his back, rubbing soothingly.

"I think it's enough for today, my lord."

Bruce spits and slaps the hand away. "You don't tell me what to do," He says bitterly as he sits to recover.

"Of course." Dick smiles. He doesn't look offended. The perfect butler he is, he never takes the shits Bruce throws his way personally.

He retrieves only to return with a towel and a bottle of water. Bruce wipes the sweat off of his face and lets the towel remain around his neck.

"I believe I asked you a question, Dick." He drinks the water while keeping his gaze locked with the demon's eyes the whole time.

Dick's mouth stretches to a toothy smile as he tilts his head, as if looking down to a pup, "Is your soul worth being empowered by the entity of evil beyond his existence boundaries? Yes. Yes, it is, my lord."

"Then why don't you just take it?"

"I would've, if I wanted a broken contract on my hand." Dick brings his hand up to show him the mark on its back, the mark of their spiritual bond, the sign of their contract. A pentagram with unusual symbols encased in a circle. "But somethings are worth the wait. A soul, rather like a fine wine, increases in excellent flavor and fullness with time."

"Is that how a soul tastes? Like a decent drink?"

"I wouldn't know. Human food doesn't appeal to me." Even when Dick is not smiling, he can hear a grin in his voice. Like he is always amused with everything Bruce says or does. "But souls," Dick lets out a dreamy sigh, "They are the true delicacies of the universe. They are to be savored, _experienced."_

Bruce perks a knee up and rests his arm on it as he watches his butler ramble about his meal, like he is defining a treasured art. Dick likes talking. He's always thrilled to unravel Bruce's inevitable questions. Makes him wonder just how long the demon has been living alone before encountering Bruce.

But unfortunately for him, Bruce is never keen on having any sorts of conversations. He simply prefers working efficient. It's always been Dick who appreciated those simple pleasures.

Maybe if Bruce himself was doomed to be alone for eternity, he'd enjoy those plain blisses, too.

"And of course, it can be cherished in more . . . sensual ways." Dick finishes as he runs a hand through his lush, ravenous hair.

"You mean sex?" Bruce gives the demon an unimpressed glance.

"The concept is more or less the same, but sex is . . . merely a metaphor for such use of a soul. Coaxing the soul into submission until it willing opens itself to you, so you can reach the ultimate goal of experiencing the pleasure that leaves your body trembling with jolt."

Bruce's breath comes fast for a split of a second, he doesn't know why. It's not fear, though. The way Dick talks about devouring a soul is far sophisticated and elegant to be feared. But whatever that is, it doesn't let him look away from the beautiful, hellish creature before him. The man is decked out in butler wear apart from the black vest and coat, shirtsleeves rolled up and top buttons undone to reveal a silver of clavicle. Long, silky hair slightly mussed, full lips smiling wickedly, cerulean eyes shining with mischief, cheekbones sculptured with all the finest of a god.

Handsome on the surface, but merely a facade, one of the thousand different ones he has worn in his long existence.

"Stop lusting over your meal. One thing is for sure, _you_ won't be giving me the talk of birds and bees," Bruce says flatly when he finds the will to retrieve his look somewhere else.

Dick chuckles. "That's most likely a wise choice, my lord."

He hears the ruffle of cloths, and gentle fingers take his chin and turn his face back only for him to be met with a foxy face and angelic eyes. An unnatural paradox, indeed. "There's no hidden intention in the words I'm about to say. But I sensed a concern bothering you, master. So let me assure you, your soul is the most glorious soul I've ever encountered in all my endless existence. You _are_ worth everything I give you and more."

"Tch. I don't believe you."

Dick's hand goes to his cheek, his curious fingers start brushing the skin under his eyes, "What's not there to believe, my lord? I shall never hope to find another Bruce Wayne, for it won't exist one anymore."

He duly notes, Dick touches him, a lot. He likes intimacy. He has always used every opportunity he could to put his hands on Bruce. In the beginning, Bruce was quite wary of the attention, it made him uncomfortable, especially since it was coming from a demon, and demons didn't touch without a sinister intention, right?

But it is starting to grow on him, and that scares Bruce.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I gotta admit, I'm kind of impressed how you were able to hold yourself back all these years. I mean," She snickers as she melts on him, "Even a straight, tight ass like you has eyes. You'd think even Bruce Wayne would bend under such a charming smile."

 

**15 years old**

He meets her on a boat but she keeps insisting it was in the street, and Dick is far too amused to choose a side call it a tie. He caught her stowing away on a boat, mugging gold watches, money, and silver pins.

He frowns and exposes her, because she's a criminal and he made a vow.

But she's different. She doesn't want to be a criminal. She's just a sad, angry girl, looking for revenge on the ones who made her suffer. She's just doing what she can to be happy.

"She's just like you, my lord," Dick keeps saying.

He sees her in the street, perched herself on the edge of a rooftop, with one leg dangerously swinging in the air. He thinks he likes her daring. The way she grins down at him reminds him of a cat. Dick often gives him that catlike look, too.

Unlike the concept of her song, she sings rather seductively, "Lonely~. . . You are mister lonely~. . . You have nobody~ . . . Wanna be mineee~?"

And that is where she's mistaken. "I'm not lonely." He's going to die, shaking in the inviting arms of a demon.

Dick will be with him till his last breath dries.

She rolls her unnatural green eyes, "Yeah, and I'm a cat."

He stares at her. She's sad, angry, and lonely. But nevertheless, alive, still fighting, and bold.

"Name's Selina."

But most importantly, he assumes, he may like cats.

"Bruce."

 

* * *

 

**16 years old**

"You're one lucky bastard, Bruce." Selina says as she grins, pushes her chair closer to his and puts her arm on his shoulder.

"I profoundly disagree."

He folds his arms against his chest. No matter how many years had passed, he is still awkward whenever someone makes a physical contact with him. Dick is probably the only one who can touch him without Bruce recoiling. Selina just always gets away with it.

She rolls her emerald eyes and mutters _drama queen._ She leans over him to purr next to his ears, "You've got yourself quite a _sight."_

He follows her greedy eyes to where Dick is standing behind the stove, only moving to fetch the required ingredients, moving his arm and hip like he's dancing to some inaudible music. Perhaps he is humming that accustomed melody he likes to mumble so much while doing the housework.

"I gotta admit, I'm kind of impressed how you were able to hold yourself back all these years. I mean," She snickers as she melts on him, "even a straight, tight ass like you has eyes. You'd think even Bruce Wayne would bend under such a charming smile."

He frowns as he feels his face reddening, "He's just a servant."

She turns her eyes on him, starts playing with the hem of his coat with her delicate fingers. This close, he can almost taste her scent. Leather, an aromatic cologne, and a distinguishable smell of cats. "Whatever," She says, "you can dry out alone if you want. I know who _I_ want to untwist my panties."

"Selina," he hopes she can read the scowl in his voice, if she does, she obviously ignores it. He regards his frown to Dick's direction and if for a brief second, he reckons he saw Dick grinning as if he could hear them crystal.

That bastard.

"Now you see what I mean?" She wiggles her eyebrows at him, wearing a Cheshire smirk. "I'm going to write stories about him. _Filthy_ stories."

He can only wince at his bad luck.

 

* * *

 

**17 years old**

They needed information for that mission. All those missions were pieces of a puzzle Bruce was trying to put together to find the ones responsible for his everlasting misery. He and Dick had punched their way through most of them, but that particular mission was slightly different.

They needed information, and there was only one person who could provide them with such a thing. It was the woman Dick was fucking the information out.

Bruce had always expected the demon to use whatever means at his disposal for the sake of their missions, and Dick complied without question. Except, apparently as a demon, he had his own preferences. He rather enjoyed the art of seduction instead of violence when it came to the female counterparts.

And maybe Dick had chosen to devour his soul because of his unparalleled, pure evil; because Bruce finds he can't suppress his curiosity and stop himself from peering through the slightly open door.

"Oh, god . . . Dick . . . Uh, god." He hears the lady whimpering incoherency.

He watches the infinitive attractiveness of a fallen angel, with a slight gloss of sweat on his masculine face, long and silky hair fluttering with movements, solid muscles twisting and shifting under a dark vest and crisp shirt. Fair and smooth ass that falls in with powerful slams, burring his cock too deep inside that cavern made of flesh.

Bruce feels a rush of heat hitting him in all the uncomfortable places. He inhales deeply several times in an attempt to cool his throbbing cock, but the sight of Dick between that woman's legs isn't helping.

He listens to the creaking and rustling of the bed, to the wet slap of flesh upon flesh, to lewd and high pitched moans of _"Harder! Harder!"_ , and to that deep, guttural male voice.

Bruce runs.

He knows Dick will show up when he's done. So Bruce starts his car and escapes back home to the once ruined manor his butler repaired good as new within an hour. Even on his way back, he couldn't shake the picture of the demon, the wicked act of voyeurism, and the sound of those masculine grunts off of his head.

His mind is filled with vivid pictures, raw sounds, and chaotic thoughts. His stiff cloths were becoming suffocating, he doesn't even make it to his bed. As soon as he closes the door, he open his pants to release his aching cock from that uncomfortable tight fabric. He groans when he grabs a fist around his cock, and he's immediately overflown with heats of arousal.

He bites his lips to keep quiet, even though he knows nobody is at the manor. It's like he feels the demon's presence, his sweet, inhuman breath fanning on his face, delicious smirk toying with him, dark hair tickling his neck, long fingers languidly stroking over the length of his cock.

He moans, feeling everything about how Dick felt in his hand. He tips his head back to rest at the door, closes his eyes and focuses on the carnal desire burning everywhere in him. He slides his hand up over the head and pushes his thumb along the inside of his foreskin, slipping pre-cum along his head and pushes at the slit, imaging Dick touching him like that and doing . . . _fuck._

He goes tense. His heart races in his chest. Once again, he is invaded with the vision of the bob of the demon's Adam's apple, the pink tongue that darted out to lick his parted lips, the dark hair that fluttered like the wings of a raven, the cock that filled that warm, wet, pulsing hole.

 _"My lord."_ A rough, deep, pleased sound is blown to his ears.

His eyes squeeze shut. "Dick . . . ," he moans the demon's name, his body trembles and he literally feels every single spurts that his cock empties. His legs give out as he slides down on the floor, drawing deep breaths to calm his heart from coming up to his throat.

He looks at the mess he made on his pants. Surely Dick will take notice of that white, sticky stain when he'd do the laundry, and Bruce absolutely detested that little part of himself that _wanted_ the demon to see it. To know how Bruce came in less than two seconds with merely the thought of him in the most defiled ways.

He grunts and murmur to the empty room, "You better not have something to do with this, Dick." Well, other than the obvious matter.

The next day, Bruce's favorite pants is mysteriously lost, and Dick is forever banned from using _that_ method to elicit information. It takes a long time for Bruce to gather the courage to look at Dick without remembering that day.

 

* * *

 

**18 years old**

He loses his virginity in an act of vengeance. He fucks the living hell out of Selina, leaving scratches and bite marks all over her soft, pale skin. He holds a bruising grip on her body for every time she had fed him pervert images of Dick.

But of course, the way she begs for even more, harder, and harsher spoils the sweet taste of revenge on his tongue. But soon enough, he finds he doesn't mind it. He likes the way she sucks his tongue greedily.

She can suck the thought of Dick out of his system.

 

* * *

 

**19 years old**

Bruce watches him from the mat, frowning with perplexed thoughts that eat his mind whenever his eyes catches that scene.

Dick, up there, on the uneven bars, swinging down and then up, legs straight out in from of him, casts and releases his shoulders. He falls, and then flies. Skin slick with sweat, hair gleaming with wetness, face flushed with adrenaline.

He falls, and then flies.

And Bruce watches his smile. Dick always smiles. He does everything with a smile on his face. But at times like this, when he's up there, on the uneven bars, falling and then flying, he _smiles._

Like a bird, a raven, a robin, a fallen angel. He falls, and then flies.

Dick swings down, landing on both feet, smiling so wide it makes Bruce wince. The stellar butler he is, he makes the most plain or sinister acts seem tasteful, hell, he makes washing the dishes appear graceful. Always perfect. Except for when he's up, falling, and then flying.

He's not absolute up there, he stretches, he laughs, he looks alive and kicking, disheveled, painfully flexible, breathless, _human._ When he's up there flying, he's free.

Bruce tosses him a water bottle. Dick catches it and takes a deep gulp, sitting next to him.

"What happened to them?" Because he has to ask.

Dick arches an eyebrow at him, "My lord?"

"Your wings."

Because how can you drink in flying without knowing how to properly relish in it?

Dick stares at a spot on the mat, "If I don't wish to answer, will you order me to?"

"No."

The demon sighs, the buzz in his face is gone as quick as it appeared. He closes his eyes and two wide wings unfurl from his back. Bruce's attention is so engrossed by those black, ravishing, sleek feathers that he forgets to breathe for a moment. They're too black that it reflects dark blue when Dick smoothly flutters them.

The intensity of Dick's stare brings his attention back to a pair of glowing cerulean eyes with a slit pupil.

Gorgeous, it is on the tip of his tongue.

He's no stranger to the demon's supernatural eyes, as he's witnessed them on more than one occasion where Dick had to accomplish a difficult task, like repairing his entire manor from ashes, to killing twenty people in less than five seconds.

But it's the first time Bruce is seeing the luscious wings of the demon. How long it took for him to trust Bruce enough to willing expose himself like that?

Dick chuckles slightly, "It shouldn't surprise me that I failed to conceal my enthusiasm every time I jumped from rooftops with you. You're quite observant, my lord."

"They're beautiful," the words slip his mouth before he can form a coherence thought.

Dick duly replies, "They're useless."

Of course. They're the broken wings of a fallen angel.

"Doesn't matter. You can fly with me."

"That simulation isn't the precise experience, but . . . perhaps with you," the demon smiles, "it'd be close."

He dares to reach a hand to touch the dark feathers, moving his finger smoothly along it, like he's testing a rich fabric. His eyes catches glimpse of Dick's back, where the bones of his wings were misshapen, twisted in an awkward position, broken beyond repairs.

How did Dick feel when he lost his wings for eternity and fell? Sad? Angry? Lonely?

"You always smile when you do that," he notes.

Dick's eyes follow the hand on his wing, and his lips slightly stretches upward. "Because I'm at home there."

Silence.

"Did you ever think about revenge?" He asks.

"Yes."

"Did you get it?"

A long pause. "Yes."

Bruce looks up at him. "Do you feel at peace now?"

Dick looks right back. "I . . . I don't know, my lord."

He searches that glowing blue eyes for merely a flicker of doubt, "Am I doing the right thing?" He finds none.

Gentle hand touches his face affectionately, "You'll do what you need to," the demon leans forward to press their foreheads against each other. "And no matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, no matter who's with you, I will never, _never_ leave you."

Bruce closes his eyes, and keeps breathing in the scent of Dick.

"No matter how bad things get, I'll always be by your side, my lord."

He sighs, and revels in the feeling of Dick's eyes piercing his face with its determination.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dick, devour my soul."   
>  Fingers pause, "No."   
>  "Dick, I order you to devour my soul right now."

 

 

**20 years old**

They got close. Closer than ever. All those years he dedicated his mind and body to achieve his goal. To get his revenge. All those nights he stayed awake to study his ass off, all the times he was knocked unconscious for over-exhausting himself with training, all the nightmares he channeled to fuel his anger.

He has it right now.

The ones who ruined him, killed his parents, burned his house, tortured him, and took his everything.

His revenge is before him. The court of owls. All beaten to a pulp, lying around him. Boiling blood streaming through his veins prevents him from feeling the ache in his knuckles.

"Tell me what to do, my lord," Dick says, standing before the leader of his enemies, painted in the blood of the goons he slaughtered, eyes glowing dangerously like sapphires in the darkness. But he is smiling, ready to snap the neck of the pathetic, trembling man on the ground.

He just needs an order, and he will kill everyone in the room for Bruce in a blink of an eye.

"Please! P-Please!__Have _mercy!_ . . . I-I'll give you  _anything_ you want, just pl__ ," The man on the ground cries, "Money! I'll give you  _anything_ you want__"

Bruce sees red. Before he knows it, he is kicking the man in his ribs. Kicking, hitting, kicking, and never stopping, "I WANT MY PARENTS BACK! I WANT THEM BACK!" Kicking, hitting, kicking, and never stopping, "I WANT MY PARENTS BACK!"

Hands close around his torso to pull him back. He vaguely hears the GCPD sirens between drying his throat out with shouting.

After being arrested, passing some interrogations, loads of paper work, a mandatory visit to hospital, and a suffocating silence during the ride back home, Bruce sits on the edge of his bed and finally sighs. Dick silently stands near his bed, he hasn't left his side for a mere second.

He gulps through the sore knot in his throat, leans his arms on his knees and blinks the tears away.

"It's finally over," he rasps.

He feels nothing. Absolutely _nothing._ Just tired. Exhausted actually. He just wants to lie down and do nothing. Just like how he feels.

Nothing.

"The contract is over."

"Only half of it," the bed shifts as Dick sits down next to him. "You made a vow. You still have that."

He looks at his butler. White shirt is stained with crimson blood, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, black vest half torn half unbuttoned, lush hair blown to every direction like he just woke up from tossing and turning in sleep. He doesn't look like a feral demon. He looks like a human. Like an incompetence butler. Like a concerned friend. An ally. His only ally.

An angel.

"What do you want for half of the payment?" He asks.

Dick takes his lifeless hand between his strong, long, and warm fingers, "Talk to me, my lord," Bruce stares, and he finds no sympathy in those eyes, "are you all right?" He merely finds curiosity.

"I don't know."

Thumbs start stroking the back of his hand, the sign of their contract, "Why didn't you let me kill him?"

Silence.

"Dick, devour my soul."

Fingers pause, "No."

"Dick, I order you to devour my soul right now."

Silence.

"You're not ready, yet."

"Then what else do you want?"

Soft lips touches the back of his hand, the sign of their contract, and lingers there, "I just want you to talk to me."

He breathes. In and out. Just keeps breathing.

"I'm tired." _Very tired._

Cerulean eyes stare at him. He breathes. In and out. Just keeps breathing. After a moment of silence, Dick grabs the back of his neck, pulls him in his embrace, and sighs in Bruce's hair. "Are you happy?"

Bruce lets the demon bury his face in his collarbone, and draws a deep inhale, seeking to fill his lungs with the warm scent of Dick, "I'm just tired."

Breathing, he realizes Dick is the only one who has seen him broken. Over and over. And still, he is always the only one there for him.

An everlasting serenity in his solitary life.

Over and over.

 

* * *

 

**22 years old**

He is not happy. So he does what he does to finally be happy.

He's good at fighting. He dresses in black. There's the ears, the belt, and the Batarange, and the Batmobile, and the gargoyle, and the roof and the leather.

A grown man, way up there, sitting on a gargoyle, dressed as an animal, waiting for Crime to come. And when it comes, he would punch crime hard enough to make everything okay.

He is Batman.

Dick will never leave him. He does what he does because he has formed a contract.

He is good at flying. He dresses in black and blue. There's the Wing-bike, and the Escrima sticks, and the armor, and the grappling gun, and the roof, and the leather.

A demon, always by his side, sitting on a gargoyle, dressed as a human, watching over Batman's back for danger. And when it comes, he would kick danger hard enough to make everything okay.

He is Nightwing.

 

* * *

 

**24 years old**

He swirls the liquor in the single flute of champagne he held through-out the whole night without taking the slightest sip. He hates those galas. But he smiles, shakes hands, and nods along as the shareholders of his company lauds his charitable nature.

"Time is doing you justice, Bruce. You're aging gracefully!"

He plays out the part of a tipsy Bruce Wayne and gushes at their compliments.

But he hates those galas.

He sees the way people look at Dick during those events. He hears their lustful whispers. He reads their aroused body language. And he absolutely detests it, detests _them,_ detests their hungry eyes.

"Bruce Wayne is one lucky bastard," a woman mutters, looking up and down at his butler.

"Talk about a prime Hollywood _beefcake."_

"On the first glance, I thought he was an aristocrat."

"Oh dear, what I would do to find out what he's sporting between those long, toned thighs."

He fucking _hates_ it.

 

* * *

 

**25 years old**

"One might think you're done stopping bullets with your body for a while, my lord," Dick says, sounding unfazed but disappointed nonetheless. "You were reckless."

Bruce grits his teeth as the needle pierces through his his skin. He holds his breath when the pain becomes unbearable, and releases it with a shaky growl.

"M' fine."

"The hole in your shoulder suggests otherwise," The antibiotics makes his wound sting as Dick cleans it.

He hisses and clenches his fist. "None of your__," he grits his teeth, "damn business."

He hears Dick sigh from behind. He ignores it and instead, focuses on the pain. It's easier. He knows pain, he _is_ pain. It's easier to focus on pain than guilt. Pain is all he knows.

"Here," Dick appears before him, holding a glass of water for him. Bruce narrows his eyes at the clear liquid. Upon seeing his skeptical glare at the glass, Dick reaches a hand around his neck, tilting his head back ever so tenderly, "Open your mouth for me, yeah?" Silky voice bending his will and coaxing his mouth to comply.

Dick's cerulean eyes fixates on his lips as cool liquid disappeared down his throat. His own icy blues perplexed on Dick's composed features till the last drop is finished.

"I'm not a kid," he says afterwards.

Dick's lips twist upward as he puts the empty glass on the table beside his bed, "Certainly. I just assumed since you aren't quite fond of painkillers, I'd find the next suitable substitute." He puts his hand on Bruce's good shoulder to slowly push him on his back.

"You bastard," he grunts as he makes himself comfortable on the flat mattress.

"To the core, my lord." He always sounds amused when Bruce calls him that.

Dick's gentle hand lingers on his head, he feels cool thumb caressing his burning scalp, soothing the pain.

They're done. He has to stand and leave, That's what he's supposed to do now, but he doesn't move. He remains lying in the medical bed, watching his butler, breathing slowly, listening to every inhale and exhale he matched with Dick's.

Contrary to the ache in his shoulder, he finds he is content.

Is that supposed to be what Selina meant by _"Enjoy the afterglow"_?

No. What do you call the pleasant feeling that consumes you after you had a bad experience?  _That_ is what he's enjoying right now.

He'd be fine as long as Dick's long fingers brush his hair, smile gently, and look at him like he's seeing the most interesting thing he's ever witnessed his entire demonic life.

He feels his eyelids turning heavier by second. It's probably the effects of what his butler made him drink. Maybe it's just Dick's relaxed features that puts his nerves at ease. I won't be the first time Dick has that effect on him after all.

"Dick."

"Yes."

"Talk to me," his own voice appears no louder than a murmur, but he doesn't care to sound any louder, either. Dick can hear him. He always hears him. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Dick makes room for himself on the bed beside him, "I'm not sure it would be proper to tell you, my lord," His smile turns to that cunning grin of his. "Knowing you, it might frighten the young master."

Bruce reaches his hand out, Dick gets the signal and takes it with his own. "You're mad, aren't you?" he asks.

"At myself, yes."

"Then don't be."

"You got shot because I wasn't paying enough attention," fingers start to stroke his knuckles.

"I was reckless."

A knowing look appears on Dick's eyes. "Nevertheless, I should have been more caution."

"I can take care of myself," voice merely a whisper.

"Undoubtedly. But it is still _my_ responsibility to prioritize your safety over all matters." He looks down at their hands, frowning a bit, seemingly confused for a second, "I should've been able to sensed it when your life was at risk."

"They weren't aiming for me."

Tender fingers pause, cerulean eyes shoot upward to meet his. Bruce shifts on the bed to move his wounded shoulder a bit, pain soothed his aching heart, pre-occupied his mind of thinking about the guilt of worrying Dick like that.

He squeezes his eyes shut in pain, preferring that to seeing the unpredictable emotions on Dick's face.

"I just couldn't let you get shot because you wanted to protect me."

Dick frowns. That's probably the only thing he hates about the butler's handsome features. "Protecting a demon who catches speeding bullets with his teeth?"

"Now you're mad at me."

"Br__ Master, you should never, _never_ rush into danger for the sake of saving me."

"If there was even a chance they could hurt you__"

"I'm quite fed up with your stubbornness, master. You could've get killed!"

Seeing Dick's concerned expression was what Bruce had been trying to avoid, but now, hearing his irritated voice tremble with worry, seeing his frustration over Bruce's persistence, it makes him feel warm. And not in the way his aching shoulder does, but warm like the afterglow Selina constantly reminds him to enjoy.

Satisfaction.

He feels the warmth of satisfaction. And he likes it. It is most definitely worth a bullet.

"You shouldn't have risked your life__"

"You're all I've got, Dick."

Dick halts again, his reprimanded frown gradually fades as a minute passes in silence.

Bruce entwines their fingers together and tries to hold as tight as his strength allowed him, "I will always take a shot for you. Don't you get that? I will _always_ take a bullet for you, Dick."

Drugs are loosening him up, fogging all the pride that would hinder his mouth to run like that. But he doesn't care. He would die for Dick and he doesn't even mind it. He would be happy, he knows.

Dick's other hand cradles his face, he smiles sweetly, he always smiles sweetly, Bruce loves it, he would take as many bullets as he could for that smile.

Dick leans down to brush his lips on Bruce's forehead, he puts his lips there and breathes. The air coming out of his lungs smells alluring, cold as winter and soft as summer. Bruce loves his scent.

"Not yet, my lord. Not quite yet," Dick murmurs. His voice sounds relaxed, powerful, and mellow. Bruce loves it.

He closes his eyes and sees black with the thought of how much he absolutely loves everything about Dick.

 

* * *

 

**26 years old**

They fight.

Dick wants to keep him alive, Bruce wants to keep his vow.

So, they patrol, punch crime, and jump from rooftops. Dick cleans, cooks, and stitches his wounds. Bruce investigates, trains, and avoids sleep.

So they fight, because Dick wants to keep him alive, and Bruce wants to keep his vow. And because he wants to stop seeing blue in the green eyes of Selina, he wants to stop being addicted to the demon's touch, he wants to be happy. But he can't.

So they fight, and he fires Dick.

 

* * *

 

**27 years old**

He enjoys ordering people, it's mostly an instinct, he is bossy. Dick used to love that about him.

But he isn't around anymore.

If Bruce closed his eyes, he could see that wicked smile, feel the ghost of a gentle touch on his skin, hear the breeze of a masculine voice, and take a deep breath of that sweet smell.

He learns how to care for his own wounds, he learns how to fight without someone having his back, he learns how to fly solo. But he never learns to stop closing his eyes. Dick is always there when he closes them.

He realizes with an aching heart, if there's no seeing, if there's no touching, sometimes, there's always a place for someone in our hearts.

He misses Dick.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loves it, he loves everything about it, he loves **everything** about Dick. He's breathless, overwhelmed, and can't grasp to any rational cognition other than clinging to Dick's shoulders and let himself be kissed senselessly.

 

**28 years old**

"For the time being, I'm your guardian angel, pal," the boy in the red hoodie says.

Bruce stares at the boy before him. He shouldn't be more than fifteen, yet, here he is, leaning his back against the Batmobile, with all four of his tires jacked, smirking at him like he's just proven a point.

"Seriously."

How daring could a kid be to prank Batman? How stupidly smart could a kid be to steal from Batman?

The aforesaid boy snickers, "Relax. M' not gonna eat your soul. I've had my full share of vengeful souls to last me till doomsday."

Bruce narrows his eyes at the boy, his mind accumulates the apparent information. He is a demon, he knows of his contract with Dick, and he is allies with the cerulean eyed man.

"Why are you here?"

The boy gives him a shit-eating grin. "Dickie-bird sent me. Since you _dismissed_ him and all, he asked me to come watch your sorry ass. And you better believe he paid me _good._ I'm not cheap."

He takes in the boy before him again. _You gotta be kidding me._ "He sent a _kid_ to take care of me?"

The boy crosses his arms against his chest. "Don't underestimate me, old man. I'm tough meat. I only took this form because Dickie thinks I'd probably get away with my shits," A frown creeps on his eyebrows, "He always puts too much faith in people." He mutters.

He chose to ignore that last comment and instead, think about the little problem before him. If Bruce leaves, the kid will most likely follow him no matter what, and as far as he gathered, the kid wouldn't leave him even if he asked nicely.

"Where's Dick?" Because he wants to know. Because his pride has been causing him enough misery. Because he _needs_ to know.

The boy shrugs, "Around. Who knows? Maybe he's that pretty cat over there," He points to the black cat on the garbage can that is staring sharply at them. The aforesaid boy grins, "Nah, that's just Timmy."

He soon is introduced to the boy's name.

Jason.

He takes both Jason and that Timmy cat back to the manor, because he's simply incapable of resisting their connection to Dick. Because he is too much of a coward to call out for the demon who promised to never leave him no matter what.

 

* * *

 

**29 years old**

"Boy, you _don't_ trust anyone, I swear." Jason plops his legs on the armchair and makes himself comfortable on the cushion.

He brings his eyes up to regard Jason questionably.

"How long has it been? You sure don't like opening up to people." The boy grabs the book from his lap and pretends to be engrossed by the words while in reality, his eyes don't even follow the lines, "How the hell did Dickie put up with you? Can't imagine the hell he had to go through with your gloomy vibe."

That's what Bruce has been asking himself since he was fourteen, too. How does Dick put up with him? _WHY_ does he put up with him?

Jason's lips stretches to a lopsided grin, "But I see where the temptation comes from. He has no interest in weak souls. And yours . . . ," He sends a critical look toward Bruce's way, "Well, it's not so bad. I'll give you that."

His attention is snatched by the sounds of a flutter. They both turn their heads toward the big window in the library to find a small robin perching there. He hears Jason snickering.

Bruce doesn't say anything. Maybe Jason _is_ right. He isn't an open book, he can't trust anyone, not even himself, especially around Dick. How can he ever hope to put his faith to others? The only person who has seen the real him, the face under the mask, his most vulnerable state, his happiest moments, and his _everything,_ was Dick.

A demon.

~~~

That day, he catches Jason in the yard with Tim cozily napping on his lap. Tim is probably the only cat who has never attempted to scratch him or hiss when he tried to pet him, but unsurprisingly, he has never seen the cat without Jason, and surprisingly for Jason, he doesn't strike him as a guy who fancies cats much. Except that black kitty apparently.

But he isn't alone in the yard. There's someone else sitting beside the boy, with his back toward Bruce, leaning back on his hands.

Anticipation hits him like a bucket of ice water.

"Why do you keep thinking about him?" Jason asks the man beside him.

"Because you keep thinking about the things you wished you had."

Bruce's heartbeat speeds at once. That voice. He knows that voice. He feels dizzy, his head is spinning all of a sudden. He can practically hear the mad beating of his heart, hitting his chest to get out of that cage made out of bones. His lips part to call his name.

Dick . . .

"What happened to that savage demon who brought plague and killed all those people?" Jason starts petting Timmy.

"Maybe he just got bored of being a sadist."

Bruce's feet is glued to the floor. His whole body is burning with butterflies everywhere. And yet, he can't find the strength to move a single muscle.

Dick is there. Real, there, and only a few steps away. How can there be such a long distance between two people who are this close? Bruce wonders, can the demon feel his presence here? Can he taste his longing breaths in the wind? Can he feel how the rush of chemicals to his system is making his head light?

Can Dick hear the music his heart learned to sing whenever the demon flashed him a mere twist of his lips?

"Bold words for a hungry demon." Jason says, "You're getting weak, Dickie-bird."

A pause.

"He needs me."

Bruce can't breath anymore. Because he _does_ , he _needs_ Dick, and he never realized just _how much_ until the man said it himself.

"He'll never admit it, not even to himself, but he needs me." Dick continues, "He doesn't want me around but he never complains, because he needs me by his side. _ME."_

"No, he doesn't. He's just angry and sad. And you're giving him something to fight for. Angry people are always looking someone to help them direct that rage. Take it from me."

Dick turns his head to look at Jason in the eye, there's something unwavering in his cerulean eyes. "I will do _anything_ for him, Jay."

"Of you will. He asks and you say yes," Jason snaps bitterly, fire apparent in his green-blue eyes. Dick looks away, and the boy sighs in defeat, "Sometimes, I'm not sure _he's_ the one who needs you."

Silence.

Bruce uses that break to unclench the fist he had made without realizing.

"I miss you, birdie," Jason says with a small voice.

"I'm sorry, little-wing."

Bruce wants to call for him. _Come here, you bastard._ He wants to pull the demon in a corner and talk to him, or just look at the face he hasn't seen for more than two years. But he just _can't._ The pain in his chest is too overwhelming. He hasn't realized just how much he missed the man until he saw him in person again. He hasn't realized how _lonely_ he felt until he heard Dick's alluring voice again.

 

* * *

 

**30 years old**

"Shit. We gotta call birdie."

_"Meow."_

Bruce picks out Jason and Tim's voices, but his vision is too blurry to comprehend anything.

There is a lurching in his stomach, like he's going to be sick, and his skin feels stretched too tight and prickly all over. Everything throbs, aches, and _burns_ in all the wrong places. When he tries to adjust the uncomfortably tight armor it sends tendrils of heat spiraling through his veins.

He groans and Dick is there by his side in an instance.

"My lord, what is__" He holds his breath sharply, like someone has knocked the air out of his lungs.

Ivy. Sex pollen. Fucking fuck _Ivy._

He hears Tim hissing, Jason shouting, and a sweet voice ignoring them for the favor of asking if Bruce is all right.

_Dick._

He's so used at denying himself the things he wants, so used to looking an not touching that he somewhat easily gathers the will to squirm in the Batmobile seat till they get to the cave. But it has gotten unbearable, desire is burning him in all the _right_ places, it's too much.

He might have leaned closer to Dick's neck when the latter towered above him to carry him out, he might have kissed the smooth skin there and moaned at how good it tasted, he might have shuddered with great pleasure when Dick cursed above him.

He might have, because it definitely felt too good to be true.

"Dick . . . " He rasps.

He hears a grunt from above, _"Fuck,_ you smell so good . . . "

He hums as he presses even closer, encapsulating them both in the indiscernible sweet smell of his arousal. "Dick," He murmurs, "need you."

"No, I . . . ," Dick goes tense, "Tell me what to do. Let me bring the sedative__"

"Dick," He growls. It takes everything in him to pull back slightly so he can look in Dick's cerulean eyes with plea "I need you. _You,"_   He can feel his own warm breaths fanning between their mouths, "Please."

Dick moans out of frustration, vaguely staring at Bruce's lips, "I, I can't, my lord. You're going to regret it when you come to your senses."

"Please don't leave me again." Dick looks like he's going to cry.

He brings his shaky hands to cradle Dick's face, forcing his eyes up. Beautiful, he thinks; perfect, everything he has ever wanted, he reckons, "I'm _always_ going to need you, Dick."

Bruce needs him, not because Dick is an ultimate means to every end, not because he's the only one Bruce has, but because he is _Dick._

Dick's hand comes to his forehead to brush the sticky hairs out of his eyes, the brush of his fingers electrifying his skin, making a beat of sweat on the back of his neck slip down his spine. He shudders again, because it's not the influence of sex pollen anymore. He _knows_ those feelings.

"Kiss me"

And Dick is there in an instance, one hand coming up to catch him by the back of his head, kissing him like he's hungry beyond all sense and control, eliciting a groan from both men. Tongue all hot thorough, teeth too rough, lips too eager like he's devouring his soul right through his mouth.

He loves it, he loves everything about it, he loves _everything_ about Dick. He's breathless, overwhelmed, and can't grasp to any rational cognition other than clinging to Dick's shoulders and let himself be kissed senselessly.

His lungs burns and he has to wretch his mouth back and draw air, but Dick doesn't pull away; just trails those hungry lips down Bruce's jaw, to his neck, licking, sucking till his head is spinning and _fuck._

He grips a fist into Dick's silky hair, because he just needs to hold onto something.

"Bruce," Dick respires against his skin.

And he stills.

"Say it."

Dick pulls back to look at him, a little out of breath, "My lord?"

Bruce purses his lips, Dick's confused for a second before realization hits him, "Bruce."

"Say it again," Bruce says, putting a hand on his chest to push him on his back.

"Bruce," Dick says softly, as if tasting the word under his tongue for the first time.

He feels jolts of electricity rushing down to his hard member, making his head dizzy. It's the first time he has ever his name being vocalized by the demon. He can come hard only hearing Dick say his name like that, like he's praying, over and over.

"I want you in my mouth," He murmurs, "I want to suck you dry, Dick."

 _"Bruce,"_ Dick gasps, and they're all over each other again, kissing deeply, kissing passionately, kissing fiercely, kissing and kissing and never stopping.

 

* * *

 

**31 years old**

Sometimes, he catches glimpse of a little robin gazing into his room, as if its curious eyes hold cognition.

Sometimes, he wonders why Jason calls himself Robin when he lunges toward Gotham's criminals.

Sometimes, he wonders how Tim lets a bird sit on his back idly.

Sometimes, he hears Jason snickering and calling the little bird an ass.

And sometimes, he is too arrogant to admit he knows his little robin is still too devoted to his order to leave him alone.

 

* * *

 

**32 years old**

Dick is always gentle. Knuckles brushing his face smoothly, feather-like kisses peppered all over his jaw, smile only worn to put his mind at ease. Dick's always sweet, figuratively and literally.

But there are times he is far from anything gentle.

The times where he reverts to his darker side. All getting and no giving, all bites and sucking the blood from his ripped lips, selfishly riding to set his own pleasure, gripping hard, on his hair, hips, his biceps, clawing all over his abs, back, and thighs.

But even in that savagery state of giving in, Dick never tastes anything but carnally sweet. He can never get enough of that taste. Bruce will always crave more and more. And he lets Dick take what he wants, he's earned it, Bruce's soul belongs to him.

Sometimes, he wonders; can Selina taste the demon on his tongue, feel his presence when she's screaming with Bruce deep inside her? Is that why she sticks close to him possessively when Dick is in the room?

 _"Yes, Bruce. You're mine. Your body, your soul, your_ everything. _All mine,"_   Dick says with adoration, like how a god would answer his people's prays.

Somehow, even when Dick is rough, Bruce loves it.

 

* * *

 

**33 years old**

Dick still hasn't come back.

_I miss him._

That's the convoluted thought Bruce couldn't quite grasp at most times.

_I always miss him._

And why is that? Why is that the first and last thought on his mind every night, everyday, when he's alone, when he's surrounded with companies, when he's awake, when he's dreaming?

Could it be those succulent lips he ravishes in his wildest dreams?

Could it be the fact that he knew Dick's hair is indeed as silky as it appears?

Or maybe it's that tall, dark, wickedly handsome face that torches his senses with desire.

But then again, the lovers in his bed suggests otherwise. Sure enough, his lust for Dick would've been more than satisfied with the dazzling beloveds he was intimated with all these times. Succulent lips, silky hairs, licentious bodies and angelic faces. He's seen them all, he's tasted each on a different lover.

He is neither horny or absurd.

Undoubtedly, Dick is beautiful. He's perhaps the most gorgeous creature who has ever stepped a toe in those lands. _Ever._ Bruce can't imagine a sane human with a pair of functional eyes who wouldn't acknowledge the innate glamor of that man.

But that charm was merely a drive to ignite the fire of hunger in Bruce's arousal. It wasn't quite sufficient to occupy his every thought. It was nowhere close to creating a distasteful ache in his heart.

_Why do I miss him?_

Dick is a demon.

No matter how genuine he sounded when he claimed he _felt_ Bruce beyond flesh and bones and nerves and blood and even his devilish essence while he was wriggling underneath him. No matter how _human_ Dick appeared while panting, huffing between their lips, turning scarlet, whispering sweet nothing to his ears lovingly, gazing upon him with incontinence eyes.

Dick is still a demon with a falsely body solely created for the purpose of appearing alluring, tempting, and sinful. It is composed as a luscious and appetizing sweet in fairy tales which was used as a fraud to lure little children into the claws of a prey.

In all his grandeur, Dick is a demon who never shamed from his being, his sadistic demeanor, disgraceful thoughts, immoral passion, and wicked astuteness. He is a demon, he tricks people, he takes great pleasure in people's suffering, he is only after the unholiest.

_But I still miss him._

If he is neither horny nor absurd, then he is insane.

It _is_ insane what he's feeling toward that hellish creature. Perhaps it's even foolish to believe the cerulean gems of his eyes are real. Or that seasoning scent which is as cold as impending snow and as hot as the genial sunshine, is anything _human._

Perhaps yes, but even bearing that in mind did nothing to release Bruce of that longing feeling.

_Why do I miss him this much?_

He is fighting a losing battle trying to convince himself to cease these thoughts. Having the knowledge of Dick being the devil himself doesn't even hinder his curiosity one bit. The mere delusion of Dick is adequate to push back any logic.

He either doesn't sleep with his mind preoccupied with the demon's thoughts, or he sleeps only to reunite with his beloved in his dreams.

He is the sheer example of a fly dancing before a lantern, astonished by its gleams radiating in the darkness, flying blindly toward the flares all the while hearing the sound of his delicate wings burning behind him. Bruce is that fly who eventually burns because he dared to crave a glimpse of the untouchable. Bruce is that fly who _will_ most definitely die a slow and painful death because he was stupid enough to fall for a demon.

 

* * *

 

**34 years old**

He comes back.

Jason doesn't look all that delighted to leave the manor, so Bruce offers him to stay, not solely for the sake of having a sidekick, but because Jason is good company. And Dick likes the kid around. And maybe Bruce feels a weird attachment to Tim.

It took some convincing, because for one Jason kept arguing, "Nah, I miss being taller than you, pretty bird." But eventually, he accepted.

From that point, it didn't take long for Tim to get used to him and live in the manor with a human form. As a teenager. And with Jason's abrupt transformation from a cranky teen to a cranky adolescent, Tim's cat-like demeanor sure made a hell a lot more sense.

And it's okay. He has Dick, and that's all that matters. And perhaps Jason is too sharp to take on his excitement as he pulls Bruce somewhere private and gives him a warning.

"You realize he's a _demon._ Right? We _all_ are. Like, if I told you the things he's done your mind'll be blown. He is _the nightmare_ itself."

And it's okay. He has Dick, and that's all that matters.

Because no matter what, he _always_ comes back.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love? He wants to laugh. **Love. Ha.** what an absurd word to define a demon's feelings. That is if those creatures were capable of deciphering such emotions in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this horrible headache today, and no beta, so sorry if you find any errors here and there.  
> These are the characters who inspired each person.  
> Ciel = Bruce  
> Sebastian = Dick  
> Elizabeth = probably Selina  
> Bard = Jason  
> Finnian = Tim  
> Mey-Rin = Stephanie  
> Tanaka = Alfred
> 
> Also, I'd recommend listening to this song 'Kagayaku sora no shijima ni wa' by Kalafina. Not for this chapter, but as in, it's a damn good song. The Black Butler fans know what I mean ;)

 

**35 years old**

"You don't want me anymore," Selina says, as if mumbling to herself, with the ever slightest hint of disbelief in her tone. Maybe it's merely disappointment. Maybe she was hoping the rumors were just plain rumors. If only it was that simple.

Bruce gently slips her hands off of his face, but he doesn't let go of the wrists, afraid she'd drop to her knees if he does.

She looks empty. Her natural naughty eyes are void of its usual gleam as she stares at him with emptiness.

He can't tell who let whom down. Him for trusting her or the other way around.

He holds her wrists tighter. Maybe he's not afraid she'd drop to her knees if he does. Maybe he's afraid _he_ would fall on on his knees if he lets go. He's afraid, and perhaps merely disappointed. Perhaps he was hoping she'd believe the rumors were just plain rumors.

If only it was that simple.

She draws a deep breath, her features soften as the shock gradually wears off, her troublesome smirk makes its way to her lips. But her eyes still hold that disappointment, as if she was just casted down by her own wishful thinking.

"He loves you." She says, a hint of question lingers on the edges of her sentence.

Love? He wants to laugh. _Love. Ha_. What an absurd word to define a demon's feelings. That is if those creatures were capable of deciphering such emotions in the first place.

"He'll do anything for me. He'd give his own life if I asked," That bit was obvious to her even before being informed of the terms of his deal with the devil, "But everything Dick does is to full-fill his contract."

So he'd enjoy tearing his soul apart piece by piece when the time arrived.

"Maybe," She murmurs, seemingly not fully present anymore.

"I made a vow, and at least until I make sure of its continual existence even after I cease to be, he's my servant."

She arches a suspicious eyebrow at him, "You're not planning to turn  _Catwoman_ to your heir, are you?"

He abhors the sole idea of implementing that heavy responsibility to anyone, let alone _Selina_ of all people. He can't start to imagine how the darkness of the cowl would sink someone else's life into its depth. But he was running out of time, he can feel it in his bones, and no matter what, Dick demonic magic can't turn him immortal.

"I trust you." He says.

A scowl creeps on her brows. "Screw you, Bat," She says as she harshly snatches her wrists free from his grip.

She knows. She _must_ know about him and Dick. She's not stupid, she can connect the dots. Bruce is literally soaked in Dick's scent whenever she snuggles in his bed, his body is always painted with the demon's teeth and lips, he's showered in unnecessary love-marks that no ordinary human force is able to plant.

She heard the rumors, she was probably hoping they were plain rumors. If only . . .

But Selina is stronger than that. Nothing can hurt her. No knives, no guns, not even words. If Bruce thinks confirming the assumptions she most likely gathered for years is going to wound her, he doesn't know her.

"I've known you for _years,"_ She jabs an accusing finger to his chest. Her weightless finger hurt him, and it hurt everywhere. She continues, "You didn't trust me with your little arrangement with the _devil._ Now you come out to me, bluntly ask me to be your damn replacement?" A strapping slap lands on his face. In comparison to the animosity in her eyes, it stings like a bite of a fly.

"I can't believe the nerves you have!"

She runs, jumps down the building, and is swollen by the shadows of Gotham.

He had to, he tries to convince himself. He had to tell her, she deserved to know. He doesn't regret it, he did the right thing. If it was going to be anyone, it had to be _her._

That's what she does. She runs, jumps down the buildings, and is swollen by the shadows. However, she will always return. Because he will never stop wanting her, and she's the only one who's able to understand why.

 

* * *

 

**36 years old**

He has a son. He's here, in his massive arms, crying, because Bruce doesn't know how to hold an infant, or feed one, or change their diapers, or entertain him, he has absolutely no idea what he's doing, or what he's supposed to do. And apparently, the baby won't be having any of that.

Jason has the decay to look amused at Bruce's hopeless sob of help. Tim only has eye for the infant in his arms, furrowing his brows in confusion as if trying to make heads and tails of the creature who won't stop crying at once. Dick only smirks from where he's watching him, leaning against the doorframe, looking smug.

The baby, Damian as his mother referred to him before she just handed him over and claimed to be his biological son, doesn't stop no matter what Bruce does.

"Shake him, Bruce. NO, _NO,_ I mean _Rock_ him. NO, _slowly_ , you trying to kill the poor thing? DON'T TOUCH HIS FACE, you dumb old bat. _NO!_ Oh, Satan help me!"

Jason certainly isn't help, and thinking it over, Bruce liked it much better when the young man kept insulting him with his eyes.

"Give me. Give him to me." Finally, Dick decided to take pity on his miserable butt, and takes the baby from him gently to hold in his own arm. He coos at the baby and rock him smoothly, a bottle of milk magically appears from his other hand as he starts to feed Damian. The baby kicks his tiny feet with excitement upon the first few nips, and goes limb against Dick's chest till the last drop of his milk is over.

The baby blinks over him, his facial expression mostly neutralized. Not quite satisfied, but certainly not sad anymore.

"Well, what do you know," Jason shrugs, "The kid's his mommy's son." He brings his finger out and let Damian wrap his small fist around it. Tim leans closer to reach his own finger for Damian to grab too, because for some reasons, the baby wouldn't retrieve his green eyes from the cat-boy. Jason chuckles, "One thing's for sure, you're gonna be the hottest mom out there, Dickie."

Seeing the way Dick is smiling down at Damian, like he's seeing the most amazing thing in the world, is definitely doing something hot with Bruce. He couldn't agree more with Jason.

 

* * *

 

**37 years old**

Bruce's glance falls on his own reflection on the full-length mirror as he tries to put his cloths on. His attention is momentarily captured as he leaves the shirt, and his trouser on the bed to walk up to the mirror to study his form.

Muscular arms wrap themselves around him, and a head is dipped in the crook of his neck.

"Bruce," Dick purrs.

Pushing back the urge to sigh in contentment, he takes the chance to observe the changes between them. He has gained a good few inches above Dick. His facial features appear to have taken after his father more than anything. And undoubtedly, he has gotten more buff. All the while Dick hasn't changed the slightest. Still tall, lean, unnaturally gorgeous, with the same boyish mischief in his eyes, and foxy smile on his lips.

He looks up and catches Dick's cerulean eyes on him, lips smiling passionately as always. "They're right. Time's done wonders on you," Dick's hand starts to roam his chest lazily, "You're not that angry boy who refused to eat his meal because a demon had made them." Bruce bites back the moan that threatens to escape his throat whenever Dick's fingers brushed his nipples.

"You've aged well. Larger, stronger, full-grown, virile, and devilishly _handsome."_ He lets out a throaty chuckle. "You even surpassed _me_ on that aspect."

He pulls Dick's arms back to turn around and face him. He combs the demon's lush, raven hair, because he can never have enough of feeling him. Dick leans to his touch.

"I'm not the only one who's changed."

"Yes," Smile widening to form a grin, "You've gotten yourself quite a mouth. I'd say it's _influential,_ my lord."

He stills, "Don't call me that."

"It's an act of habit."

 _"Don't_ call me that."

Dick chuckles quietly, hooks an arm around his neck and murmurs, "So _bossy."_ He presses their lips together.

Bruce puts his hands on the demon's slim waist and lightly squeezes it. Dick lets out a soft moan and strokes one hand along the line of his spine, and runs the other through Bruce's hair. He sucks on Dick's inviting tongue without even meaning to. Dick tastes sweet. He tastes cold like winter and warm like summer. It's as serene as it is erotic. Kissing Dick is like swimming in the ocean, like floating in the space, like suffocating to death, like being rebirth.

Bruce bites his button lip, pulls it back gently, and licks its place. Dick grins. He always grins when Bruce kisses him, like he knows how much Bruce loves his mouth, like Bruce is giving him exactly what he wants, like he craves the attention Bruce gives him with every single essence of his devilish core.

Dick plants a kiss on his nose, and another on cheeks, another under his jaw; tilts his head to kiss his neck and shoulder with extra attention.

Bruce sighs. He even likes the sound of Dick's lips on every inch of his body.

He hates to disturb that peaceful moment, but he has to ask, "Why don't you eat my soul?"

Because that's the only unsolved case he has yet to find the answer to.

Dick hides his face to his collarbone and takes a deep inhale of his skin, "I don't know."

His warms breaths ignite flames of fire in Bruce's body in the most delightful ways.

"Has my soul lost its appeal?"

 _"Never,"_ Dick says hastily, frowning up to him as if intensifying his point, "I'm a demon. I'll always lust for souls. Especially a glorious soul like yours."

Dick gulps visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he does. Bruce dips down to bite Dick's palatable neck, and sucks till he claimed that smooth skin with his teeth.

_Mine._

Dick hums deliciously, presses closer to arch his back and neck invitingly. "You won't seduce your answer out of me." He sounds amused.

He brings his head up, Dick is looking at him with eyelids half open, arousal and desire apparent in his erotic stare, but he finds no sign of hunger there. Not in a way a predator watches over its prey. But in a way an artist views a masterpiece.

"Dick I order you to eat my soul," He demands with no remorse and regret. Dick looks defeated. "You can't tell me it's not ready when you just said it's perfect."

Dick nips his button lip between his teeth. "I've changed, Bruce. You've enabled me to _feel,"_ Now he looks confused, and maybe a little irritated, "I'm a demon. I'm supposed to elicit these feelings in the human I've made a contract with. But I'm _feeling_ , and . . . dammit." He looks away.

"What do you feel?"

"Nothing? . . . _Everything?_ Despite my everlasting hunger, I'm . . . happy. And that terrifies my, because I don't know why I'm still here."

Bruce feels his heart cease beating at once. He pulls a hand to stroke Dick's face just so he is doing something to fill the silence.

"Well . . . ," He opens his mouth when he finds the courage to talk, "I ordered you to never leave me alone."

Dick's eyes hold his gaze sedately, as if he's recalling something, or maybe something abrupt just occurred to him.

"I . . . " Now his brows furrowed.

Bruce's hand stops. "What's wrong?"

"I think I . . . I'm in love with you, Bruce."

His throat immediately runs dry, and down below, he feels a hot flicker of _want_ burst into life throughout his stomach. Given the situation, he has to panic, he knows he'd lose his shit any time now, but . . . the thing is, he doesn't.

He feels like he _should,_ but he doesn't.

"I mean . . . ," Dick continues, "I preoccupy myself with attempting to ensure your continual survival. Is that love? It feels like an obsession."

Bruce takes both of his hands and walks backwards till he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Bruce . . . " Dick calls his name, waiting for a response from him.

"Come here," Bruce pulls him closer so that Dick is standing between his knees. He grips the demon by the hips, running his thumb over the smooth fabric of his boxers before pressing his mouth against the delicious, cool skin of Dick's stomach. The aforesaid man rests his hands on Bruce's shoulders and sighs.

Licking a line up the skin by Dick's navel and dragging his teeth over it, Bruce realizes something. Dick is like a drug. An intoxicating balance between good and bad. He is that exhilarating feeling that you most certainly know is wrong, but feels good nonetheless; and that makes you hesitate, makes you linger, consider for a moment 'Is the good feeling worth the consequences?'

The answer is yes. It's always worth it when it comes to Dick. It's always yes. He rewards himself with that discovery as he kiss Dick's abdomen and pelvis. He kneads Dick's ass with his fingers, making the demon roll his hips toward Bruce's open mouth.

Bruce mouths the fabric over the demon's cock, wetting and listening to Dick's breath catch. "Bruce," He says with a deep voice, guttural, throaty, and _fuck._ It strikes a chord in Bruce's spine and travels directly down to his own cock. He pushes the bulge toward his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pulsing flesh and just keep at feeling Dick.

One of Dick's hands grabs a fist in his hair, and the other keeps griping harder on his shoulder, as he rocked impatiently toward Bruce's mouth, silently pleading him to pull his boxers down and run his tongue all over his member.

"Bruce," He rasps.

Bruce grunts lightly. He loves how responsive is Dick, loves how Dick makes these mouth-watering noises with that deep voice of his; Dick's reaction is a sheer collection of how Bruce feels every goddamn time he's with him. And now, Bruce, who is hard and staining but still hadn't touched himself for the sake of feeling Dick, finally has enough as he pulls his lover's boxers dow__

"Yo, you horny bastards," Jason hits his fists against the door, jolting them both, "Damian's babysitter is here, and unless you want Tim to sniff an ulterior motive on her, you'd move your asses down, else your baby is either kidnapped or screwed."

Bruce, face palming himself for easily getting distracted prior, flashes an apology look toward Dick, and _very_ reluctantly stands to fetch his cloths.

 

* * *

 

**38 years old**

"Oh, bloody hell." Alfred chases after a little Damian, running around in the garden, shouting 'Shit' as he does.

"I mean, at least his first words weren't death, destruction, domination. He actually said Dada." Stephanie shrugs her shoulders from where she's standing next to Jason, watching the scene take place.

"You realize that's your fault as his babysitter, don't you, blondie?" Jason crosses his arms against his chest.

"How's that my fault when shit's literally your catchphrase?"

"Because both Dick and Bruce can tell if I'm lying. You're busted, shortstack."

Alfred finally scoops up Damian. "SHIT!"

Stephanie sighs, "Tell me about it."

 _"Meow,"_ Cat Timmy tiptoes toward Damian. Upon seeing the black furred animal, Damian stops struggling in Alfred's arm and reaches his small hands out to grab him.

"Timmy! Timmy!"

Alfred, completely swoon over Damian's adorableness, puts the baby down on the cool grass. Damian squeals happily as soon as Tim nudges his head to his small chest. Damian, with the grace and ultimate delicacy of a child, brings his hands up to pet Tim.

He has cried almost every single time Tim tried to hold him, but as soon as he transforms to a cat, Damian jitters with excitement and enthusiasm to be all over the poor cat. But Tim never seemed to hold that against him and happily obligated every time Damian made a fuss about _"I wan' Timmy. I wan' Timmy, Dada. TIMMY. Timmy!"_

Bruce, from where he's standing behind Jason and Stephanie, smiles to himself. He knew he liked that cat for a reason.

Dick walks up to that lovable scene and kneels beside Damian, smiling as his son beams upon seeing his 'Didi'. As far as he's concerned, Damian isn't like the other kids his age, he is rarely ever impressed of the wondrous matters around him, and so far only Dick and cat-Tim were able to absorb his attention.

"Yes, little D." Dick rubs a hand over Damian's back, "He's very soft. All cats are soft."

"Aw," Stephanie coos. "I'm kinda jealous of Dick. He doesn't even have to try, and Dami already _loves_ him."

Jason snickers. "It runs in the family. Trust me."

Bruce wonders if Jason knows he's able to hear them crystal clear.

"You talking about boss and that angel over there?" She stretches her arms above her head and sighs, "Oh, yeah. They're practically married. They just don't know it yet."

He watches fondly as Dick sits on the grass beside his son, with Tim on his lab as he tries to teach Damian how to properly pet the animal so he wouldn't hurt Tim unintentionally.

He watches Dick and his son, and Jason, and Tim, and all the people who has come in his life because of Dick.

His family. His friends. His life.

He wants to stand there forever, watch his beloved play with his son and smile like he lifts the sun, the stars, and the sky itself.

Dick doesn't have to be here, playing with his son and smiling like he means it. He doesn't have to. He's earned Bruce's soul years ago. and he has yet to devour it like how he rightfully deserves. He doesn't have to be here just because Bruce needs him.

Yet, here he is, by his side, never leaving him alone, just like Bruce had ordered him all those years ago, just like he himself promised with his glowing cerulean eyes.

"They'll probably pop the question though," Jason says.

"Duh."

"And if they did, I'd show up at their wedding in ripped jeans and trip Dick when he walks down the aisle."

She laughs as she playfully smacks his arm. "Boss'll kill you."

"He's not the boss of me. Hell, he doesn't even pay me."

"So . . . ," She pauses for a second, "Let me get this straight. Alfred's the butler, I'm the babysitter, Tim's . . . well, the family cat, and Dick's the future husband. Who're you then?"

"I'm the goddamn chef."

Damian's head perks up toward them. "GODDAMN SHET," He shouts with all the cuteness of a baby's voice.

Dick puts a hand over his mouth to cover his laughter.

"Master, Damian." Alfred gives the little baby a reprimanded frown.

"You're both fired."

Stephanie's head whips back to look at him, horror apparent in her wide eyes as she's been caught red handed.

"Fuck off." Jason doesn't even turn to regard him; clearly aware of his presence behind his back all along. "I don't even work here."

"You're _both_ fired," He says again, not really meaning it.

 

* * *

 

**39 years old**

How could a predator fall for his prey?

Is it possible that you could fall in love with your meal? Stephanie loves waffles, she claims she'd kill for it, metaphorically of course. Sometimes, Damian liked his food too much to ruin it by chewing it between his teeth, he preferred to keep his meal intact than eat his own food simply because he liked it too much.

Is that what it is? Is that how Dick truly feels? A passion only strong enough to take the edges off, and more than enough to leave him wanting in some years later?

Like a decent art, as Dick puts it, he's merely allowed to watch, to _experience,_ but not touch. Dick even follows the museum rules and keeps his distance. Always trying to pry Bruce's heart open, but only the heart of his master, never himself.

Bruce knows that's as far as it goes, so he doesn't question the demon; because Dick is one of those few things in life that Bruce recognizes as a constant, and he cannot risk losing Dick.

Not again.

Dick begins buttoning up the white undershirt as Bruce searched his impassive face. "Not the top," He stops Dick's hands, working upward, "I want to breathe." Dick complies.

"Dick, why don't you take my soul?" He asks as his butler does the cuffs, one after the other.

"If I may, my lord, your night activities are all the evidence that you're far too eager to die," He does one button on the blazer, "The least you could do is to stop bothering me with these questions."

Dick grabs the tie which is two shades lighter than the color of his eyes.

"What if I ordered nicely?"

Dick's hands move quickly, tying the knot to Bruce's neck, leaving a little more space than he should have to make sure he can breathe.

"It's not amusing anymore, master," He says with an unreadable expression.

Then, he works on the collar, making sure all of it looks decent and proper.

"I just want to know what it is that kept me alive all these years. I may want to try being better at it as well."

Dick's eyes shoots up. "In that case, as your peers like to say, I would suggest calling it an _instinct."_

"I'm a man of science. I don't _believe_ in instinct." He turns to face the full-length mirror, working on his tie to adjust it to his preferable position, "Try a new excuse."

"Instinct is one of the things I inherently understand," He hears Dick chuckle darkly, "I don't try to interpret it, don't need to rationalize them, I just _know_ them, and in that way they make sense to me. Like flying and you and forgiveness and revenge. I don't challenge that."

"Instinct can't be trusted," He runs his fingers through his hair to brush it back, "You can never tell if it's leading you somewhere or sending you to a wild goose chase."

Dick's reflection appears on the mirror, wearing a sly smile, eyes glowing with wickedness, as if amused with a hidden joke beyond Bruce's comprehension. "I don't need to understand them to know they're there, to know you're at the heart of most of them. I just know, and that's sense enough."

Bruce is so captivated by the demon's reflection on the mirror, he momentarily forgets he's supposed to move.

And of course, his stiffen reaction doesn't go unnoticed by his butler. Cerulean eyes never alters from his gaze as he comes closer, one strong arm warps around his abdomen, head tilting back ever slightly so succulent lips can press against his ears, mouth grinning with wolfish fangs, warm breeze of sweet breaths tickle his ears as he murmurs.

"I've been this woven of impulse and instinct and drives for years, my lord." His other hand teasingly caress his hip, frisky fingers dance on his trouser, heated palm slips down into his pocket, finger tips press so close to his groin. "There's a fire inside of me whenever you're around," Bruce vaguely feels the movements of grinning lips on his ears, "That heat, it lights the nerves of my falsely human body."

He has his eyes fixated on Dick's profile, silently watches the devil who is taking the opportunity he has to lead him into sin.

"It sets my heart racing, craving more of you," The curious hand on his hip roams down, more and more until it finds its way toward his dick. Bruce is at dilemma at whether to push his back against Dick's board chest and inviting front, or push toward the hand teasing his cock on the rich fabric. "You awake something deep beyond flesh and bones, something that forces me to _feel_ beyond my ever present hunger."

Bruce's hand moves up to tangle his fingers in the demon's hair and grip roughly as Dick runs his tongue along his shell. "I can't even find a faint shade of irritation that normally comes with starvation," The hand on his cock gets creative, fingers work with an inhuman speed to unzip his pants and bring his aching fly out, "All I have in me are desire and want and need and love. There's no room for anything else."

"Dick." Bruce reckons, he sounds too breathless as tender fingers slide down over his length and then up again, doubling the pressure of need already merged at his groin.

Dick nudges his nose in his neck and takes a deep inhale as he gives another languid pump to the erection. "I love the way you smell," He nips at Bruce's earlobe and whispers, "You smell like leather, smoke, sweat, dark like danger and embers, domestic like sunlight and rain." The sneaky hand on Bruce's chest opens a few buttons and roams all over his breastbones. Bruce can't help the noises that escape his throat when fingers brush and pinch his sensitive nipples. "Like everything so essential, so _mortal,"_ Hasty fist rips open the rest of the buttons up to his throat, "I just can't get enough." Mouth ravages the newly exposed skin with blunt teeth and tongue flickering in between.

A shiver runs down Bruce's body, he moans and arches his neck. He tries not to roll his hips toward that warm hand but it's so goddamn hard, he's so goddamn hard, and it's an instinctive impulse and__

He whines and he feels no remorse or shame as he does. Dick keeps him encapsulated in his embrace, burning Bruce with his hell fire, devouring him bit by bit from all angles. Hands close around him possessively, as if the demon was trying to squeeze Bruce in that sin deeper and deeper till his knees gave out and bent.

"Your scent fades from the bed too soon after you leave." Dick strokes him nice and slow, watches from the mirror as Bruce's head leans back and pants like he does after sparring, too breathless for a hand-job. "It's not mere attraction to your body and soul. It's _you,_ Bruce."

Bruce looks at his own hazy reflection, his heart feels like it would crawl out of his chest and wrap its veins and arteries around Dick's hand like a leash for its master. He watches the smile bloom on Dick's lips and wonder how anyone can want anything more than this.

The demon circles the head of the cock, his thumb slick with precum, and Bruce can't do much more than whimper and make aborted little thrusts against Dick's hand. "I love your courage. You should be terrified of me, but you aren't. You trust me, it's like you resurrected me, and . . . " Bruce feels a solid pressure on his back as Dick rolls his hips against his ass, eliciting a guttural growl out of him. Dick mumbles, "How did you manage to entrap me so easily, Bruce?"

"Dick," That's the only warning he manages to come up with.

His muscles tighten with a familiar and violence tremble as he comes hard on the demon's hand, and some of his spurts stains the mirror. For a moment, Bruce is so lost to the pleasure of it as Dick starts to pepper his brow and hair with feather-like kisses that he momentarily forgets about the demon's hard member on his back, but he can't feel it anymore and that makes him wonder, just how many tricks Dick had up his sleeves to pleasure his master?

"I can no longer take your soul even if I wanted to." Dick says with a voice just above a whisper. He retrieves to stand in front of him; Bruce has to forcefully swallow the moan that threatened to escape his mouth at the loss of the heat against his back.

"The terms of our contract have changed," Dick starts fixing his disheveled attire, repairing the ripped buttons, "I've changed. I'm still a demon, but not whole anymore. I'm a man, but never truly can be," He combs his hair back, "The only place I can ever hope to _be_ is at your side."

The truth lying in Dick's cerulean eyes feels like a punch to his guts, leaving him stunned and breathless, because Dick never _lies_ and sometimes, it's painful.

"Your desires are my desires. I will go wherever you are. I will go as far as you want me to, and I'll be content with that."

 _Dick, I love you._ Bruce feels the words eat him on the tip of his tongue, burning his senses with fire. But nothing comes.

Dick gives him one of those smiles Bruce has sworn to take thousand bullets for, and puts one hand on his face. "Happy anniversary, my lord." He sighs and leans to his touch.

It's been more than thirty years now.

 

* * *

 

**40 years old**

"I want to make a contract with Jason." Selina says flatly, her cat-goggles concealing the emotions in her eyes.

He just stares at her. She puts her hands on her hips stubbornly.

"He's a demon." He says as a matter of fact, "He'll eat your soul."

She shrugs, "Richard didn't."

"He's different. Our whole deal was different since the beginning."

"Ugh," She turns her back to him, clearly fed up with whatever he had to say, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe it's because _you're_ the one who's different?"

He remains quiet and reminds himself, it's not about him, it has never been about him. Selina has long moved on, she had Holly even before she met him, she was the only one there for her after everything.

"Why do you want to die?" He asks while knowing a huge fraction of the answer.

Holly Robinson is dead.

"What do _you_ know what I want?"

"What could possibly be worth losing your own life for?"

He can't even start to think what he would do if anything were to happen to Dick.

"It's not what I want for _myself."_ Her hands come up to wrap around her own arms, rubbing smoothly as if she's trying to sympathize with herself.

He takes two steps forward before stopping. If he offered his own sympathy, she'd get mad at him. She made it clear she didn't need anything that comes from him.

Bruce did love Selina once, so deeply, but he grew up and grew out of it or perhaps just felt comfortable enough around her to mask the deep feelings he has all reserved for one cerulean-eyed man behind sloppy kisses.

She has always proven to be a reliable friend to him, even when it seemed she is only by his side to get something out of it. He was the same too. He refused to get any sort of help from anyone except Dick, but somehow, Selina always got away with crossing that rule.

Yet, here he is, incapable of holding her in his arms like how he desperately wants to, because he has never been as strong as her.

"I dunno," She shrugs, "maybe I just want you to be happy." She sniffs.

"I can never be happy."

"Because you need _him_ for that." She opens her arms wide and tiptoes on the edge of the building. She continues, "You didn't just make a vow, you _are_ the vow. You put it above everything. Every doubt, every pain, every instinct, or retreat or surrender." She pushes her goggles up to rest on her head, "Every love."

He frowns. Something is wrong. She seems _too_ nonchalant.

"Bruce, we kick, we jump, we fly, we save the day, but none of us is _you . . . Batman."_ She stops to give him a cold look, "Gotham can't live without you."

Realization hits him hard like a punch to his guts.

No . . .

"Selina__"

"I need you to understand. I did it for _you_ , Bruce. For Gotham. For _my_ happiness."

He marches toward her to shake her shoulders. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"For once," She doesn't even struggle against his grip, "I didn't want to only think about myself anymore__"

His hands starts to tremble, he can't breath anymore, he . . . he'll find Jason, that demon, he'll__

"What the hell did you do, Selina?" He growls.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes shine with accumulated tears . . .

No, no, no, _no._

"I love you, Bruce." A single tear drops on her cheek as she gives him a sad but loving smile.

_NO!_

~~~

"JASON!"

He blindly runs through the whole manor, madly shouting, eyes darting to every corner at once, lungs scorching with emptiness, muscles burning and stretching his skin, he's cold and hot at once, he's__

How could he be so naive? So ignorant, so absurd, so _miserable!_ God, Bruce invited him to his own _house._ The devil. How could he be that obvious? He should've known, that damn demon, without morals, with no leash, free, _the devil,_ hungry, living in his own house, a demon, in his own _house._

"JASON!"

He catches a flicker of blue as he passes one of the rooms in his manor and falters. A pair of obnoxious gems, floating in the darkness of the room, stares at him. He exhales sharply upon noticing his butler in the dark of the night.

"Dick," He rasps breathlessly.

His butler is there in a blink of an eye, merely a few inches from him, eyes dangerously glowing and unwavering. And it's okay, Bruce thinks. He's not afraid of Dick. He's different.

"Where's Jaso__"

He doesn't even have the chance to finish his sentence as a strong and solid force tears through his ribs.

He's confused, through that incoherent rivulets of fear being sent to his brain, he realizes he's not able to break free from that confused daze.

He vaguely notes three things; one, Dick's slit pupils don't hold any emotions, two, there's a hole in his chest, and lastly, they're not alone in the room.

Jason pushes from where he was leaning against the wall. He can feel his own blood turning thinner and thinner while he's not able to move an inch from the hand piercing his flesh and bones.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Jason says as he stands beside Dick.

He stares at two pairs of supernatural glowing eyes. He can't feel his feet, he _shouldn't_ even be standing. Pain starts to set in, he's dizzy, he's out of breath, he's betrayed, casted down, lied to, torn to bits, wounded beyond any mortal injuries, left feeling tears moistening his face.

He's broken.

Again.

He wants to sob. He wants to scream. Why can't he bring himself to feel betrayed by Dick?

So this is how it ends . . .

Across the darkness where moon sets, he'll return to his origin on a narrow path. Trembling, ripped to pieces, in the devil's arms, in the silent of the shinning sky, just like how Dick had promised, just like Bruce asked.

He'd die in the demon's arms.

And so he says he prays.

_Goodbye, my love, because I can't ever meet you again, as if the night gouges my chest lovingly and madly._

**Author's Note:**

> All the kudos and comments are appreciated :)


End file.
